


there are some remedies worse...

by staticbees



Series: a demonstration, of sorts [1]
Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Gen, The Stanley Parable Demo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:01:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: The Stanley Parable Demo had fallen apart, and they were the ones left to pick up the pieces.The Narrator sounds so happy, and 428 doesn’t have the heart to tell him that what he’s remembering never happened. They never reached a catwalk, never found an elevator. Never escaped. There were no trees, no wildlife, no sun. Only the cold, concrete walls of the office, a dull grey that they had grown sick of seeing through every doorway, and blinking red lights, constant and neverending.





	there are some remedies worse...

Employee 428 sits in a small blue armchair, staring at the blank wall in front of them, as the Narrator rambles on. The Stanley Parable Demo had fallen apart, and they were the ones left to pick up the pieces, broken buttons and twisted signs, lights flickering. The alarms are muffled and constant, and they sigh, head in their hands. 

 

“No more endings,” the Narrator says firmly. “The other problem with this game is too many bloody endings.” 

 

They roll their eyes.  _ You were the one who made this game. How come  _ you  _ made so many endings? _

 

“I’m sick of them,” he continues. “How can one game end so many times? It doesn’t make sense.” He pauses, thinking. “Oh, but back in the beginning of the demonstration, that was lovely. No concerns about where it was all going, no confusion. Just a blank slate. That’s what I want. A game with beginnings.” The Narrator’s voice grows wistful and nostalgic, and 428 sighs.  _ Here he goes again. _

 

“Hey. Do you remember? A few minutes ago, when we met for the first time, and I showed you the technology used to make the demo, when I thought there actually  _ was  _ a demo.” He chuckles. “Oh, we were so naive back then, how  _ little _ we knew of the world. And then, when we ended up back in the waiting room, even though you’d already done that before!  _ Yes _ ... it’s all so fresh in my memory. They were such wonderful moments. Ooh! And then, when we played with the cup and you won! And we went wandering and we ended up in a stairwell somewhere, and we just kept  _ climbing _ , and  _ climbing _ , flight after flight after flight, I thought that it would  _ never _ end!”

 

428 freezes. What stairwell? They don’t remember ever encountering  _ anything _ like that. As the Narrator continues, their confusion only grows. Why does he remember things  _ they  _ don’t?

 

“And then we were on some kind of catwalk. I didn’t have any idea what was down there. Did you? And we just kept going, and we found that elevator, and it said ‘escape’ on it. And we talked about it for awhile, about how we couldn’t possibly know whether this was really an escape, but it seemed worth a try, and at the very least it would be an adventure! And we went inside, and we rode the elevator up, and up, and up. We had some sense that the end was coming, but we couldn’t possibly know when. 

 

And then after so long it finally stopped, and we stepped out into the lush outdoors, the trees, the wildlife, the sun rising on a new and glorious power. Freedom. We were free. There was nothing to think, nothing to know, simply us, being right there, in that moment. Wasn’t it  _ so  _ beautiful? Wasn’t that moment so  _ singularly _ ,  _ piercingly  _ beautiful?  _ We were free. _ ” 

 

He sounds so happy, voice hushed and yearning, and 428 doesn’t have the heart to tell him that what he’s remembering _never_ _happened._ They never reached a catwalk, never found an elevator. Never _escaped_. There _were_ no trees, no wildlife, no sun. Only the cold, concrete walls of the office, a dull grey that they had grown sick of seeing through every doorway, and blinking red lights, constant and neverending. Their head aches, and they rub their temple, grimacing.

 

“Uhhh… yeah, sure. I remember that. That was great,” they add halfheartedly, glancing up at the ceiling.

 

There’s a pause. “Wait.” They hear papers shuffling, and when the Narrator next speaks, his voice is trembling and quiet. “You’re- you don’t  _ remember _ , do you?” 

 

428 winces. “Was I supposed to?” they ask tentatively. 

 

“But, but,” he splutters, “you don’t remember the outside? You don’t remember  _ any  _ of it?” 

 

They shake their head, heart sinking. How are they supposed to remember  _ that  _ when they can’t even remember their own name? Their memories from before the demo are blurry at best, a room and an office and a name on the tip of their tongue. And of course, a number. 428.  _ That _ , they remember.

 

The Narrator falls silent, and they sit there, eyes closed, staring at the burst of color behind their eyelids. There is a heavy silence, pressing down on them, and the air is stagnant and cool. The quiet seems brittle, about to shatter into a million pieces, and they shiver, goosebumps rising on their arms. 

 

**You have reached the end of The Stanley Parable Demo #594,** the receptionist from earlier announces firmly.  **Please proceed to the nearest exit.**

 

428 glances up, eyes wide. “What-”

 

“No, no, no, this is exactly what happened last time, I remember now-” the Narrator mutters frantically, and they hear a furious shuffling of notes. There’s faint static buzzing in their ears, and the world around them begins to dim, colors bleached from their surroundings. They grip the arms of the chair, knuckles white, and their headache begins to grow worse, a stabbing pain in the back of their skull. Their vision goes spotty, and they close their eyes, shaking their head until it feels like their brain is rattling around in their skull. 

 

The Narrator is saying something, but his voice sounds muffled and distant, like he’s underwater, and they ignore him, digging their fingers into the plush cushion of the armchair until the foam begins to leak out. Tears stream down their face as the world begins to slip away, and 428 can feel themself falling, arms outstretched. They reach for something to grab ahold of, but all their hands close around is air, and their stomach plummets, air rushing around them as they fall. A rush of adrenaline fills them, and they squeeze their eyes shut tighter, preparing to hit the ground. 

 

They never reach it.

 

**Welcome to The Stanley Parable Demo #595.**

 

Employee 428 opens their eyes.


End file.
